Georgia's Annexation of 2008
by MitternachtMeinung
Summary: A short story relating recent events in Georgia to the Hetalia universe.
1. Chapter 1

RUSSIAAAA!!!

I glanced around nervously. Everything seemed fairly calm, but I had learned from bitter experience that five nations crammed into a conference room was a problem. If I followed that vein of thought, one hundred nations crammed into a dance hall, combined with a bar, would turn out to be an international emergency.

However, for the moment, things seemed relatively calm. France was stealthily approaching a partially intoxicated England from behind; Germany and Italy were laughing together, or rather, Italy was laughing and Germany was listening stoically to a long and convoluted story about tomatoes. China and India were politely, if stiffly, talking about the weather, and the three small Baltic nations were all trying to disappear into the woodwork. So far, it seemed to all be working for a change.

I turned to the bar myself, ordering Lagidze water. As usual, the bartender didn't have a clue what I was talking about; I sighed, and ordered an American Coke. Sipping it delicately (fizzy bubbles are apparently meant to counter the lack of taste), I found myself hoping Armenia or Poland would come over to talk. I knew Azerbaijan would refrain from such a meeting as this, but still, it would be nice to catch up—

_CRASH._

I turned sharply, still clutching my soda, to find Estonia sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a dozen small cuts on one side of his face. The nation I feared the most stood over him, holding a broken vodka bottle loosely, a small smile on his face.

The chair of the conference (America, as usual) was busy breaking up a small fight between Serbia and Montenegro, so there would be no help from that nation, but England, at least, stepped forward. "Gentlemen, and I'll use the term loosely, what the bloody hell is this? We're at a summit, talking about nothing more violent than climate change. What did you say this time, Estonia?"

Lithuania muttered a reply, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Russia is mean when he's drunk; you should know _that_, England." The island nation flushed, but continued to act as a moderator.

I saw this go on, and couldn't help but wonder why England thought Russia was in the right. Estonia was the one on the floor, the one glassed by a crazed nation that would rather shoot you than shake your hand. I gulped; someone had to defend the small ones. I then gathered my courage and spoke, quite politely, I might add. "England-san, I believe that Estonia's not the one at fault here. It's quite clear that Russia struck first."

The large Red nation turned to me, his violet eyes cutting me to the bone. I shuddered, holding his gaze as steadily as I could. "Ah," he whispered, somehow pleased. "I wondered when you would speak. You were always so…individualistic." Louder, he growled, "These small nations, yourself included, cannot be invited to such a conference without it being a slight to me. I see no reason not to respect a nation that was once part of Russia, that so foolishly became an independent nation."

Estonia muttered, "Your tanks were in Tallinn. You forced us to it, and we did it without a single Estonian killed." He flinched as Russia glared at him again, but continued, louder than before. "Estonia was glad to escape from the iron hand of its oppres—AUGH!" Russia had kicked him below the belt with his steel-toed boots; the smaller nation, curled in a ball of pain, was hurriedly dragged out of range by Latvia and Lithuania.

I couldn't take this! "Russia, I will ask you once. Please leave this summit if you cannot tolerate countries such as mine."

Russia's smile grew bigger. "Me, leave? Oh, no, I couldn't do that." His eyes narrowed suddenly, and his smile vanished completely. "Not without compensation." He lunged forward, and grabbed me by the hair; I shrieked in pain and surprise. Fluidly, he slid a switchblade from his white kid gloves, and --_shnk_—placed it next to my throat. Almost every nation watching froze.1

Russia backed towards the doors, but pulled me with him, laughing softly. I struggled to get loose, but his grip was truly one of iron. "Let me go!" I screamed. "Let me go! I have national sovereignty!"

"Russia-san!" America yelled. "Put down that country immediately, or I won't trade with you for…" he went bright red for a second, then continued, "You know what I mean!2 Besides, you can't get three steps out that door!"

Russia's gaze flickered towards the door, and indeed, two guards in the blue UN security uniforms were standing there, barring his exit. He laughed, then, the gurgling laugh of a young child pulling the wings off of flies. "Is this all you can do?" he asked. He continued towards them, then as he was level with one guard, his wrist flicked out, and the man clutched at his leg and swore in a variety of languages, the switchblade imbedded in his upper thigh. Without a second's pause, Russia pulled out another one and did the same to the second man.

Russia then grabbed me by the throat; I fought to breathe, to break his grip, but it was useless. America (brave country) called one last time, "Russia! You know you can't get away with this!"

Russia's grin was back. "Oh really?" His wrist flicked towards America, and I heard the cry of pain that followed, but I was dragged from the room with my captor before I could see what had happened. All I knew for sure was that my worst dream had come true.

I, the sovereign republic of Georgia, was back under Russia's control once again.

1 Well, Italy and France were singing a song about tomatoes, but no one was paying attention to them.

2 Referring to the condom deal, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

The Annexation of Georgia, part 2

The gavel banged down onto the dais. "This committee is now in session," Germany announced loudly. "Would all delegates come to order?"

As the nations settled down, various expressions flitted across the many faces around the table. Japan looked disturbed; the Baltics, along with many other post-USSR nations, were talking earnestly amongst themselves; France and Italy were again laughing together, and America was nursing his wound from Russia's switchblade. The way he was acting, it was as if he'd been stabbed through a vital organ; it had barely grazed his shoulder.

"Settle down, please," Germany said, a little louder.

"—and the funniest thing was, that he STILL thought—" France laughed, trying to breathe and laugh at the same time, patting the laughing and hiccupping Italy on the back—

"SHUT _UP!_ ALL NATIONS MUST RAISE THEIR HANDS TO SPEAK. UNDERSTOOD?" Germany thundered. Italy's eyes filled with tears; he was about to start crying, Germany just knew it. "Italy, I didn't mean it in a bad way," the blond nation sighed.

Italy's smile came back, and he laughed in that innocent way of his. "I know!"

Germany rolled his eyes. "All right, back to business. Georgia has been invaded by Russia. I believe the consensus is that we need to do SOMETHING about it, but I've heard various theories fly around. If anyone has a cohesive idea, please, share it."

America's hand shot up; Germany tentatively nodded for the megapower to speak. "Hey guys, what if we invaded Russia!?" the nation shouted excitedly.

"What, are you insane?" England said loudly. Germany glared; the island nation halfheartedly raised his hand to speak.

"England, you're acknowledged. Please continue."  
"Simply put, that's even more stupid than your super hero idea for climate change. Russia's got General Winter on his side. Almost every nation here has tried to invade at some point or another, and they have all been repulsed by the cold." England irritably sipped his Earl Grey. "Well, except for YOU, but that's merely because you're on the other side of the world."

America's hand shot up. Germany glared at them both. "You're technically in debate; continue talking, but if you interrupt each other, so help me, I'll ignore you the rest of this conference." America and England nodded, not quite understanding. "It's basic parliamentary procedure," Germany muttered, slightly embarrassed, then louder, "America, you have the floor."

America bounced to his feet, cradling his scrape tenderly. "Okay, guys! I have a ton of soldiers all over the world right now, and I can't really afford to deploy anymore at the moment. So it's all up to you guys!" And with that, he flopped back to his seat, a smile on his face.

England stood again; he began, with a nod from Germany. "Firstly, America, the soldiers deployed are just another example of your expansionist tendencies. I believe you have plenty of troops left; you have one of the largest standing armies in the world, after all."

"After me-aru," China chirped, then shrank under Germany's hundred-watt stare.

"My point is, gentlemen, that if we work together, it is possible to defeat even such a nation as Russia," England continued. "I have a small standing army compared to you two," and he gestured pointedly towards America and China, "but I can contribute some, and I will."

Germany looked towards America. "Do you want to rebut?"

"What?"

Germany sighed. "Never mind. Any more speakers?" He surveyed the crowded table. "Anyone at all?"

Slowly, timidly, a short young man raised his hand. "Er, I have some suggestions," he said, obviously uncomfortable with the attention on him.

"Please continue, er…" Germany faltered. Who was this nation?

"The Republic of Armenia, sir." The little nation smiled. "I'm Georgia's next-door neighbor, along with Turkey, Russia and Azerbaijan."


	3. Chapter 3

My vision was blurred as I slowly opened my eyes; I shook my head, and things once again came into focus, albeit gradually. I was curled in a small armchair; I rubbed my neck, feeling the bruises from where Russia had grabbed me.

For that matter, where was Russia? I swung my feet down, and carefully stood, trying not to overbalance. I felt like I had a hangover, which was strange in itself. I didn't remember drinking any alcohol. For that matter, I didn't know how long I had been unconscious, or even why. The last I remembered, I was shouting at—_oh, no._

"Oh, no, no, no," I muttered, feeling bile rise in my mouth. "No…" It was true; I could feel it in my bones, my heart, my being as a country. Russia _had_ invaded; I could feel the fighting escalate even as I stood there.

"Ah, good morning, _malenʹkaya sestra.__1_And how are you feeling?" He moved like a cat! I hadn't heard him coming at all! He was back in his working clothes, with that long scarf wrapped around his throat; come to think of it, the summit was the first time I had seen him without it.

"Not so well. You're in my country, and you're unwelcome," I said flatly. "I know we are resisting you, and I will do the same."

Russia's light smile faded. "I am aiding you, little one," he replied shortly. "Your economy is failing, and your tourist trade is nearly gone. If I said Georgia to anyone outside of Eastern Europe, they would think of the capitalist American state. I don't see how you cannot be grateful! I have put your name on the evening news, so to speak."

I folded my arms and glared. "I'd rather be living quietly in obscurity."

Russia smiled then, a genuine one, full of warmth; I wondered what had brought that on. "Come, you're dirty. Please use the bath upstairs; I'll make you some _shchi_2 for dinner."

"Dinner?" It couldn't have been that long!

Russia noticed my expression. "You've been unconscious nearly all day," he explained kindly. "It was a long trip, and you felt sick after I gave you some chloroform to quiet you down. It was only five millilitres," he added quickly, catching my expression.3

"You could've killed me!" I shouted, reduced to nearly-incoherent rage. "You—you—you—" Russia took me by the wrist and pulled me gently but firmly upstairs. He found, after some rummaging in the Baltics' old rooms, a towel and shampoo (formerly Latvia's). I tried to break free from his grip, but his fingers tightened to the point of grinding the bones of my wrist together. He then pushed me, my wrist behind my back, into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Russia then bodily lifted me into the base of the shower, turning on the water, whistling a happy little tune as he did so, and gently began to unzip my dress from behind. "RUSSIA!" I screamed, nearly slipping in the water sloshing around my ankles. "STOP!" I turned to face him, ignoring the pain in my wrist. "Let me go," I said, my voice shaking.

Russia's eyebrows leaped into his hairline. "You didn't seem to take the hint, _sestra_. If you cannot shower yourself, I can help." He smiled again, that warmth from somewhere I didn't think existed. "I'll be downstairs." And he left, as quietly as he had came in when I had woken. I stood in the shower, shaking, for a long minute and a half, until I heard the nation's footsteps creak into the kitchen a floor below.

As I stripped and showered, I thought over everything that had happened. It wasn't my fault Georgia had been invaded, was it? Estonia was being bullied, poor thing. I had to say something. Ah, I should have let America handle it; while being sometimes a little dense, he still had a soft spot for small nations. I knew I had allies in this fight—Armenia, Moldova, possibly America. It wasn't definite that I would be annexed, after all.

But still, I knew deep in my heart we couldn't beat Russia. It was physically impossible—my standing army was not a tenth of his. Even if I had allies send troops, it would be a disaster to antagonize the larger nation. Besides, my best hope for a larger number, America, was deployed in Afghanistan, Iraq and several other places.

Hot tears ran down my face, mingled with the lukewarm water from the showerhead. Would I be left alone? Would someone help me? _Wouldn't_ someone help me?

1 "little sister."

2 A soup. Generally it is made with either cabbage or sauerkraut and other winter vegetables, although meat can be added.

3 Chloroform in dosages above 10mL is fatal; dosages above 5mL can seriously impair brain function if exposed for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

I reached out of the shower for my towel, shivering slightly. Russia had forgotten to mention that hot water would shut off midway through the shower. I quickly towelled myself down, trying to avoid looking at the bruises in the mirror. I then looked towards the floor, trying to find my dress, but it had disappeared.

Or had been removed.

Fuming, I wrapped myself as completely as I could in the towel and marched to Lithuania's old room, finding one of his old work shirts and a pair of pants at least three sizes too big for me. I stole a belt from Latvia's room; that held the pants up, at least. My feet were bare, but I didn't care. I pulled my long hair back with some string, but I couldn't find a brush or comb anywhere. I sighed; no wonder the Baltics had always looked so scruffy. I headed downstairs, careful to not make a lot of noise, in case Russia was in a foul mood. I remembered that much from the USSR days.

Russia was standing by the stove in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something that looked green and oily. The smell was enough to make me gag; I wondered what all was in it.

"Ah, good to see you, sestra," the large nation smiled. "Would you like some shchi? I don't normally cook for others, so I hope it's to your taste. There is cabbage, vodka, and some pork product in this one."

I glared at him, not giving him an inch. "Russia, what happened to my dress?"

"Come. Eat something." Russia ladled out a bowl, tossing it onto the table with a practiced wrist, not spilling a drop. He tossed a second to me; a little slopped over the edge, staining my left index finger a pale green. He then gestured to the empty chair. "Please eat," he added kindly. Did he just not hear my question, or was he playing deaf? He'd used that before... Was that it? What was he thinking? I decided to play along, at least for the moment.

I took the seat; it creaked a little, and I found myself smiling, despite myself. When Armenia and Moldova and I were still USSR nations, we would come into the kitchen and play cards when Russia was out. Armenia and Moldova. My friends.

Tears came to my eyes; I tried to swallow, to keep the weakness from showing, but it was too late. One, maybe two tears hit the tabletop. Immediately, Russia stood, concerned. "Georgia! Are you all right?" he asked, so alarmed that I looked around instinctively, checking to see if there was another nation with the name of Georgia in the room. "Was it too strong for you? I suppose I added too much vodka. I do enjoy the flavour..." the taller nation mumbled gently, bending, trying to look me in the eyes. I avoided his gaze, standing, trying not to let any more tears go. "Georgia..." He sighed, then finished his bowl of soup in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

"…and so, gentlemen, I think that about wraps it up. To summarize, I would suggest putting pressure on Russia politically, and perhaps also to send minor numbers of troops as more of a morale booster for Georgia than actual help. Russia should be forced to withdraw," Armenia concluded. "Any questions?"

He surveyed the crowded conference room, and sighed. Few were responsive, as he had expected. Surprised, he saw a hand rise from France. "Yes, sir?"  
"I have a question in general," the nation responded. "It's for the entire conference."

"Well, please continue, then," Armenia smiled.

"Why should we support this plan? Is there any gain for us?" the blond nation asked, his voice swelling to echo around the chamber dramatically. "I personally have never gone into a war without there being a significant monetary or land incentive."

Moldova was on his feet instantly, frantically raising a hand. "Permission for counter-argument, sir?"

Germany nodded, bemused. "Please."

"France, you're an insensitive ASSHOLE." And Moldova sat down, just like that. Armenia whispered frantically in his ally's ear, trying to keep from laughing; England's eyes widened, and he frantically tried to avoid spraying tea all over Italy Romano and his girlfriend, San Marino1; Belarus burst out laughing; and America started to applaud, slowly, nodding and grinning at the small nation.

After some consultation, Moldova stood again, and added, "Fellow delegates, that's not entirely what I meant. English is not my first language. What I meant to say is that France is being insensitive to the needs of the small. I have a worse economic situation than Georgia, but do I give in to Russia? No. I have to deal with and manage one of the largest black markets in Europe in my country, but do I ask for help? Very little. I attended a German university growing up, and I learned how France beggared Germany after World War I, a futile task of building a house of cards with no stable base. May I remind you that you have never undertaken any wars that you WON for the past century and a half without America or England covering your ass." Moldova paused, hearing the other nations titter and whisper among themselves. "What I'm really asking, France, is if you have it in you to be one of the great nations again. I couldn't be more ashamed of you. I yield my time to the chair."

Germany spoke on his second try; he had been gripping his chair handles so tightly his knuckles were white during Moldova's speech. "Ahem. Er, is there a response from the opposition?" He glanced towards France. To his great surprise, and to Moldova's embarrassment, the nation was weeping. Silently, but still, weeping.

"France?" Japan, the nation to France's immediate left, nudged the blond gently. "France, do you want to rebut?"

The large nation said nothing, staring at one wood knot on the conference table, tears splashing down onto the conference table. Germany coughed, and shuffled the paperwork on his desk to cover his own embarrassment. "Is there another nation wishing to speak at this time?" He gazed around the chamber. "None?" He glanced back at his notes. _A vote on the issue is now in order_. A vote? Oh, all right.

"All nations in favor of aiding Georgia in her present crisis, and confirming their aid whether it is military or in the matter of embasserial pressure, please raise your placards."

Germany counted them slowly, then sucked in his breath sharply. Ninety-eight, out of one hundred, had voted affirmative.

"All opposed?" The Russian representative raised his placard halfheartedly. Germany sighed. "Italy, you HAVE to vote."

"Oh," the cute little nation said, confused. "I vote with Romano then!"

"Stupid little brother," Romano muttered.

And throughout the entire vote, France's gaze remained focused on the desk.

1 "Nicole", and you know who you are, this is for you XD


	6. Chapter 6

I lay quietly in bed, staring fondly at the ceiling I had helped whitewash all that time ago. I smiled a little, remembering Moldova tripping over the bucket and spilling it all over Armenia, then having to explain the mess to Russia. Those were the fun times. Even if it was under Russia's control and constant surveillance, they were still better than what I had now—

I sat bolt upright, shocked and ashamed of myself. Why was I thinking this? Russia was not my parent or guardian; I didn't need him to run my country. I didn't WANT him to run my country. I was a surviving Eastern European nation. I many not have the best economy at the moment, but by God, it was my economy. It may not be much, but it was mine.

I glanced at the alarm clock, and winced; it was past midnight. Russia had insisted on sleeping downstairs on the couch until "your room is aired and taken care of, sestra. I don't want you to get sick." I think he also wanted to keep me from sneaking out in the night; not only did he walk like a cat, he had the ears of a cat. (Not literally. You know what I mean.)

Perhaps I was just feeling nostalgic. I nodded; that must be it. Seeing the table and hearing the chair creaking probably just triggered some long-forgotten feelings. A memory shimmered into my vision: the few dances and soirees we were allowed to attend, and dancing with each nation of the opposite gender in turn, as was the custom. Moldova was hesitant, Armenia graceful and light on his feet; Russia was intimidating, but so gentle one almost forgot who and what he was. Latvia always hid when the dance started, stammering something about flat feet. Estonia was capable, but he was much more comfortable standing in the back, face in the shadows, watching people, than actually being under the lights of a dance floor. Lithuania was even more elegant and experienced than Russia. I loved dancing with him, and he with me; I wondered if he remembered me as well as I him.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering what my allies were doing. Armenia was probably trying to explain where my country WAS, and Moldova would be too busy to come to the meeting. The black market was really getting unmanageable in his nation. I smiled. Moldova and Armenia looked like brothers at first glance, but once you met them, you would find how different they were. Moldova's eyes were a stormy gray, while Armenia's were an innocent blue; Moldova was three centimetres shorter than Armenia; Moldova would rather argue than ask nicely, while Armenia suffered several genocides and occupations because of his own generosity.

They called me their sister. I looked somewhat similar, I suppose, but my national policies differed, and I desperately wanted to be a member of NATO and the EU. They didn't care as much, but I knew that Russia would try something in Ossetia1 eventually. Preventative measures only work so far, after all. The summit was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

I rolled over onto my side. Hopefully the Baltics would speak up for us; they had been friends of mine, while not as close as Moldova and Armenia and I were. I hadn't really talked to them, except in defence of Estonia, since the 1990's, when we were all breaking free of the Soviet Union. I closed my eyes; it was useless to spend my time worrying, and I should've gotten some sleep.

However, I was awake all night.

1 Region still occupied by Russian troops.


	7. Chapter 7 Silly interlude

"Good morning, guys!"

The various nations assembled (Austria, Japan, Canada, Turkey, Switzerland, United States, UK, France, China, and Russia) looked towards the speaker, not interested on what he was talking about in the slightest.

"Are we talking about climate change again?" Switzerland asked, annoyed. "I'm sick and tired about hearing how we need to be cleaner and more environmentally friendly."

"I agree," France said melodramatically. "There are so many more pressing issues in the world. World peace--" a chorus of groans drowned out his next words. He sighed. "I was about to say, world peace has been covered so much that we're all tense from having so much peace IN the world. I suggest instead we talk about horrible things that are happening every day." He paused dramatically. "Like British cooking."

Austria pounded the table in agreement. "I concur completely," he said, standing gracefully. "I nearly choked to death on a scone once."

"Hear, hear!" various other nations called.

England's eyes got wider and wider with each declaration. "I…I…what?" he muttered, ashamed and angry. "You could've bloody said…" With that, he got to his feet, and stormed to the door.

"QUICK!" shouted China. "We can prevent him from cooking like that again if we pass a unanimous resolution-aru!"

"Um, isn't that a bit unfair to England?" Canada said quietly, but he wasn't heard, as usual. He sighed. It was hard sometimes, being an invisible nation.

England grabbed his trench coat, bowler, and gloves from the waiting doorman, and stormed out of the UN building in a foul mood. Not caring where he was going, he walked as quickly as he could down the street and away from his scene of disgrace. "Not like my cooking?" he muttered. "Not like it? How can't they? I mean, haggis can be a bit of an acquired taste, but still…My scones are NOT that bad. Bloody bastards…"

Rain started to pour from the sky; England sighed, and opened his umbrella. "How does it feel," he hummed, "when you're alone and cold inside?"

It was really beginning to pour; England looked for a place to duck in. Half a block away, he saw a small Italian restaurant. _Perfect,_ the country thought. _No one will find me here._

"Good afternoon, sir! What would you like to eat today?" Italy said lightly, smiling.

"A gin and tonic. And…whatever tastes the best…"the strange muttered, shielding his face with his trench coat collar.

"Ah, then you want some delicious pasta, ne?"

"Whatever."

Italy looked at the gentleman, confused. "What does sir WANT to eat?"

"Bloody hell, I just want something that's not British!" the man yelled. Italy's eyes widened, and he patted the stranger on the back understandingly. Another victim of English food; they always came here for the best Italian to recover.

"Ah, are you a victim of British food? Then I'll make the pasta extra-good! And your gin and tonic will be out in a second, sir." Italy skipped into the back kitchen, giggling. It had all worked according to plan.

AND I'M ENDING HERE! STAY TUNED TILL The 14TH CHAPTER FOR MORE!


	8. Chapter 8

America sat in the summit bar, drinking one slurpee after another, working haphazardly on the working paper he was supposed to be drafting. The bartender was becoming more and more skeptical of the nations' bill, however. National debt wise, it was quite clear he wouldn't be able to pay it for several years.

Suddenly, three countries approached him, dressed in black, with masks over the bottom half of their faces. One carried a dart gun; the other two were unarmed, but they all looked prepared for a battle, if need be. They surrounded America, who continued obliviously slurping and smiling. "Oh, hey, I—what are you doing?!" The nation with the gun had poked it into the larger country's back. "Is this a kidnapping?"

"Be quiet, and no harm will come to you," one of the masked countries advised in a whisper. "We won't hurt you."

"Oh, okay…" the large nation said slowly, as he was frogmarched down the hallway. "Is this some sort of secret—"

"Shut up!"

As he was whisked into the tiny conference room and plunked into the chair at the far end of the table, America noted each face on the left side of the table: Moldova, Armenia, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Poland, Czech republic, Slovakia, Slovenia, and many others, all formerly Eastern Bloc nations. And then, on the right, Germany, Italy, Italy Romano, Spain, Greece, England, Austria, and many other powerful European nations. The other assembled nations all looked towards America briefly, and a few muttered embarrassed greetings. None of them appeared to know what was afoot, and he was in the dark as much as them.

The double doors slammed open; a familiar voice said, in the clichéd tones of a movie star, "Let's beat back the Russian bear together."

A collective gasp issued from the lips of all present; it was a person they knew, for sure, but how he had changed! His hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail beneath an olive-green cap; his fancy blue and red uniform was gone, replaced with a crisp gray wifebeater, and a digi-camouflage jacket and pants. The cuffs of the pants were tucked into full-sized, steel-toed combat boots, a dark green shade that incidentally complimented the jacket buttons. France had also rubbed some camo paint on his face; while not making it blend in, it certainly emphasized the look of heroic resolve currently in place there.

A snort from across the room brought ever nation back to their senses; England's nose had begun to bleed profusely. He stood and sprinted from the room, muttering something about noxious fumes. Germany nodded approvingly, while Italy shrank a little from this new, militaristic France. _Funny,_ thought America. _Why is he all camo'd up, but doesn't carry a gun?_

"Fellow nations," France boomed, "I suppose you're wondering why I'm all dressed like this, but not carrying a gun." _Heheh, bingo._ "That is because I refuse to carry them. They do not fit my nation's laws, since I don't have a permit. What I am asking of you, though," and his eyes lingered on Moldova, "is to fully support me. I am proposing sending in a special-ops team." _NO! _"That's right, gentlemen. To Russia's house."


	9. Chapter 9

Apparently I drifted off to sleep at some point, for I woke to the quiet, yet disturbing sound of a knife being sharpened. I opened my eyes quickly, adrenaline flooding my body. I suppose it was the fact of growing up with Russia as my neighbour, or just always having to be aware, that made me react in such a manner, but I tried to relax once again. Russia was not the type to knife a person in the middle of the night, and especially not in his own bedroom; blood stains, after all.

After a few minutes, I sighed and stretched. It was useless trying to get back to sleep. Might as well get up early. I sat up and looked around the bedroom. Russia had been in here, obviously; he had take my old clothes and replaced them with some of Belarus' old dresses. I touched the homespun wool gingerly; I had no fond memories of Belarus, only cruel ones. I shook my head. If he wouldn't give me back my clothing, I certainly wouldn't wear Belarus'.

I came downstairs in some of Latvia's old clothing; Russia raised an eyebrow, but offered no comment. He had every bayonet, knife, sword, and axe in the house, it seemed, on the table in front of him. _Swipe, swipe_ the blades went, first on the rough, then on the smooth, sharpening surface. Three strokes for each side, and he was done. It was a fascinating process, actually; he was a master craftsman at it. I watched from the doorway for a while, then came closer to see the process in more detail.

"You didn't wear Belarus' old dress," he said lightly, after finishing the last of the knives. "I put it over your chair this morning."

"I don't want to have anything to do with Belarus," I said crossly. "She was nasty when I lived here, and is still nasty when we meet in committees."

Russia's brow creased, but he said nothing else. I looked at him curiously, waiting for him to speak, to say anything, but he remained silent. I could sense he was saddened by something. Was it something that had happened last night? A forgotten memory, like mine, perhaps? I've never been a patient person, and I couldn't stand the absence of dialogue any longer. "What's wrong?"

He glanced at me as if he had just remembered I was there. I noticed half a bottle of vodka open in his pocket, but I didn't smell it on him. That didn't mean anything, though; I had known him to go through four bottles without even a slurring of speech.

"Russia? Are you all right?" I was becoming alarmed now—he was never this calm. Even when asleep, he had an air of watchfulness, of walls built up, that seemed gone now. It was as if the walls of his heart had been torn down, or at least breached. "I don't know what's wrong, but is it something I can help with?"

Russia looked at me again, with that absentminded manner that I found so frightening. "It has nothing to do with you. And everything to do with you. I was remembering a dance." He smiled softly, gently. "Belarus' dress reminded me of it."

I smiled a little. We had been thinking of the same event last night, then. "Who's the lucky lady you were thinking of, then? Belarus?"

Russia's gaze caught me full-on; his violet eyes sent a wave of irrational fear into my heart. "You, Georgia."

I tried to shake the feeling of deep-seated fear off. "Russia, what are you—"

He swung around, and grabbed my hands lightly. "You're the only nation I have ever encountered that resisted me so strongly. Do you know how attractive that is to me? America? Pah! Diplomacy and dancing around on lines. Belarus? Frightens _me_ somewhat. Ukraine? A sweet girl, but easy to talk into becoming one with Mother Russia. But you..." and his eyes blazed through my soul, "you, Georgia, were the only one to constantly resist me, try to counter my every move, refuse every help I ever offered, going so far as to sanction my trade with you."

He smiled; there was an insane twitch to him now. I stood, pulling my hands free, backing up as far as I could, running into the wall behind me; "Russia, what is your meaning?"

"It's simple, little one. You will become one with Mother Russia." And he smiled his soft smile once again.


End file.
